Chance Encounter
by I'mDatingTheReceptionist
Summary: Mordecai doesn't know why he came to this restaurant. It's too fancy for his tastes. But after a customer causes a scene in the place, he suddenly finds that his evening's going to be a whole lot more interesting. Humanised. MxB.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**

 **The designs in the picture aren't the designs in this story! In fact, I based their human designs on JG and Sam, except the other characters're any human design you want lmao. Anyway, I hope you love this story. Sorry for being so absent from here, but uploading new stories/chapters is going to become pretty much once in a blue moon.**

 **Already obvious, but this's a humanised AU.**

Mordecai doesn't know why he came here. Fancy restaurants weren't exactly his scene no matter how many times he stepped into one. The lights were far too bright, the music loud, the food was covered in glazes too thick they made you want to gag and the place was nearly always packed with people who could clearly afford to buy out the entire place if they wanted to - dressed with their dazzling riches and eloquent speech, Mordecai feels incredibly out of place just being in their presence, let alone having the want to pay them up front by simply smarting a glimpse of their sapphire encrusted rings.

He stifles a groan as he nurses a half filled glass of white wine, his arm stretched out on the table with his eyes glued to it. Across from him, Rigby soaks up the lavishness of it all, dressed to the nines in a snappy suit he'd been able to afford thanks to the extra hours he'd put in for Maellard - he'd only done so of course for Eileen, who's giggling away next to Rigby; she's dressed in a simple yet elegant pink dress which balances the line between standing out and fitting in and there's a pink butterfly clip in her hair that catches the light every so often. Margaret's beside Mordecai, holding her own glass of white wine and sipping it slowly with her gaze drinking in the atmosphere. She looks almost as uncomfortable as Mordecai feels - neither of them want to be out and about that was for sure. She's stunning in a pale yellow dress, which fades into a dark orange close to the bottom, and a sparkling silver belt hugs her middle; like Eileen, she's been smart with her choice of attire for the evening, though while both girls had the similar idea of how to appear aware, they don't share the attitude of wishing to stay longer than intended. Four empty plates that once held the claimed "best lobster of the oceans" have been pushed away next to a filled breadstick basket, one of which Margaret grabs and begins tearing at before nibbling on a piece.

Waiters stride about the tables, delivering food, taking orders and continuously asking how their dinner is in their snooty, clearly fake french accents which Mordecai audibly snorts at when he sees one of them a couple of tables down. The woman he's speaking to nods and flashes a row of pearly whites, pointing to the food and nodding along with her husband. The waiter soon collects their plates, a few more words are exchanged, then he walks off to the kitchen where the sound of dishes being thrown into a sink are drowned out by the various conversations by the diners. Eileen suddenly bursts into laughter and Mordecai looks away from the waiter to fix his attention on her, Margaret too eyeing the pair in what can only be described as both confusion and frustration. Mordecai doesn't know if he can understand her anger with them. Confusion, of course. But he's anything but mad with them. It was his own fault for agreeing to tag along after all. And Margaret had only followed because she needed something else to think about that wasn't her camera-ready job.

Mordecai straightens up and raises his glass to his lips, downing the rest of its contents with ease. He resists slamming it down on the table and for a quick second, he considers raising his hand for another one, but his eyes clip to Margaret who still hasn't strayed from the happy couple. Eileen surprisingly fits in well with the crowd, as if she comes here more often than not and no one pays her a single glance when she dissolves into laughter once again thanks to a lame punchline Rigby just relayed. Clearly she's enjoying herself. And that's not even with the assistance of alcohol. Rigby's grinning from ear to ear and he suddenly looks over at Mordecai as if to say "we should do this tomorrow night". Mordecai forces a smile back but when Rigby turns to Eileen again, he's quick to let it go and sighs heavily which Margaret manages to spot. She hides a laugh behind her hand and Mordecai suppresses the urge to hunch back over the table to stare out at the suits and jewels occupying every table that wasn't theirs. He doesn't think he's been this bored in his entire life, and that's saying something.

He badly wants to elbow Rigby in the ribs, maybe haul his ass off the chair and out the door, but he's having such a riot that Mordecai knows he'll feel bad if he starts making a scene for his selfish purposes. Besides, Rigby would throw a fit if he humiliated him in front of not only the restaurants occupies but Eileen as well, and that would go down like a lead balloon tomorrow afternoon…something Mordecai would not wish to deal with. Better to be safe than sorry, then. He sighs again and considers for the second time raising his hand for another glass, maybe something stronger this time would bear this evening, but Margaret holds out a breadstick and he immediately takes it, meeting her eyes to be directed with a knowing smile.

"There's more in the basket," she says simply and Mordecai snickers as he breaks off a chunk. He tosses it into his mouth and gratefully eats, suddenly fully aware that Rigby and Eileen are still so blissfully ignorant of their friends utter boredom at being stuck in here. Oh well, like he could care less. At least he got free bread out of this night.

Mordecai grins as he tears away another piece, nodding to Margarets purse, "You should hide them in your bag. We could have a nice midnight snack."

Margaret laughs, "Oh, like the lobster wasn't enough for your tastes?"

"I don't have particularly high standards with food, Margaret." Mordecai jokes. Margaret gives a cheeky grin then glances at the pair across the table, who're soaked in their own bubble, which makes Margarets lips fall as she lifts her gaze to Mordecai who's now picking out the inside of the breadstick. She instantly slaps his hand away and he looks up in surprise, opening his mouth to say something but at her expression, he goes quiet instead.

Her brown eyes shine, "Would it be rude to walk out? I wouldn't mind catching a movie." Her voice is hopeful with a touch of regret; the exact tone of somebody who's just wasted an hour sipping expensive bubbly and wishing to let the floor swallow them whole. Mordecai considers it. He seriously does. It's as if Margarets words open up a new opportune window, and his heart soars at the possibility of leaving, but then Rigby's voice pierces into his thoughts and all his hopes're dashed.

He sighs, wanting more than anything to take her and slip out unnoticed, "Believe me, I've been wondering the same thing." He smiles again when a thought comes to him. Maybe he can still make light of this, "Would getting drunk help at all?

Margaret laughs, "As long as I'm not paying."

"Rigby's offered, remember?"

They go to raise their hands, but a vibration suddenly comes from Margarets purse. She scrambles to open it and pulls out her phone, which utters a lame ringtone and she casts Mordecai an apologetic look before flipping it open and holding it to her ear. Mouthing a "sorry" to Mordecai and pointing at the phone, she hurriedly stands and heads for the bathroom, leaving Mordecai to his thoughts once again. Rigby and Eileen are still lost in their own world, neither of them noticing Margarets apparent absence from the table, and he fights the want to interrupt them for it. How dare they have a good night!

Mordecai abandons the breadstick on the table beside the pile of crumbs he'd been assembling earlier and drums his fingers on the tablecloth, looking back out at everyone. The restaurant's a lot less full than it had been when they'd first come in much to his surprise and he watches a waiter gather an occupants dishes, while another waiter puts out new plates & cutlery, menus bunched underneath his arm which he brings out and lays beside the plates. Though Mordecai hates almost everything about this place, he has to admit that their attention to detail is impressive as is the pristine nature of their uniform and their stable attitude when dealing with rude diners. There's been a definite fair share of those since the group had taken their table and he's mildly astonished at how well they're able to manage it all. Though, he'd never speak of it aloud. He'd never hear the end of it from Margaret.

In amongst Rigby and Eileens chatter, the loud voice of another waiter pulls Mordecai to attention and he tears his gaze from the tables being set up to a suit handling a customer. A few people are looking over, some women even raising their spectacles to catch a glimpse of the "commotion." They're many tables off, but Mordecai can still catch what's being said. The customer's alone and telling from his voice, he's frustrated, almost desperate to let this waiter leave him be.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I must insist-"

"He'll be here, alright? Just-just five more minutes."

The waiter stands there a moment, his back to Mordecai. The customer's face is tilted to him and his mouth moves; his voice's gone a notch quieter but the waiter repeats himself, saying that it's been almost 30 minutes since he's come in. The customer begins stammering something….

The occupants quickly go back to their dishes and conversation when nothing interesting arises from the situation, but Mordecai's still fixed on the pair. If he squints hard enough, he's able to make out the customer raising his hands and his face going red while the waiter, bless him, keeps his cool and firmly repeats what he'd said before, while adding in his own comment. The customer suddenly stands, causing his chair to jerk and many heads turn this time. Mordecai even finds himself rising from his seat. He doesn't know why, but an overwhelming part of him hopes the waiter doesn't crack and drag the customer back through the doors. He's just able to keep his temper down, but anyone could see that he was fit to burst any minute now. Who knows what the waiter looked like. The customers hand is on the back of his chair while the other points at the waiter, his mouth hurriedly opening and closing as spit flies dangerously close to him…

Rigby's almost at the punchline of his joke when he suddenly recognises the silence that's fallen across the room. Both him and Eileen halt in their giggling and turn to see almost everyone watching a scene unfold in the middle of the restaurant, a situation between a customer and a waiter. Rigby's eyes roam the tables, the people now unable to look away from the pair, until they come to rest on Mordecai who's stood up with his hand pressed to the tablecloth, Margarets purse beside it. Rigby climbs out of his seat and Eileen follows him to his side, both of them listening in.

Rigby looks up at Mordecai, "Hey man, what's going on?"

Mordecai doesn't take his eyes away. The customer looks ready to reel his hand back any minute, "I don't know."

Rigby doesn't ask anything more and the three watch with everyone else. No other waiters try to step in, and the waiter currently left to take charge of this interruption seems very still, which for some reason, doesn't sit well with Mordecai.

"Sir, please, I must ask you to leave-"

"My date will _be_ here, I already _told_ you!"

Mordecai's heart clenches. A slap should echo right about now…

But nothing comes. The waiter finally backs down and his hands go up to clasp together, "If she iz not 'ere within 10 minutes, you will 'ave no choice but to leave the premises. Iz that understood?" He speaks steadily, but there's a warning beneath his voice which the customer thankfully notices. He bluntly nods and, with his face still a bright red, lowers his hand and falls back into his chair in defeat. The waiter bows once more then turns to leave, and a collective, almost relieved sigh breaks across the entire room. Chairs are heard scraping across the floor as everyone resumes seating and finishing off their meals, while the ticked off waiter returns to his clan to discuss what's just occurred. Eileen lets out a breath and Rigby wipes his brow, a large smile tugging on his face,

"Man, I thought that was gonna be ugly. Can you imagine what would've hap…Mordecai?"

Mordecais legs've turned to jelly. He's too transfixed on this customer to answer Rigby, let alone throw a few insults to the fake french waiter. He lands back in his seat, his hands folded in his lap which he notices are trembling slightly. The customer has his head down so Mordecai can't see his face anymore, but his hair's fallen over his forehead.

Rigby nudges him, "Dude, you alright?"

Mordecai jumps and when he registers someone beside him, he quickly hides his hands from view and forces a reassuring smile, "Yeah, I'm okay. That was…pretty intense, man."

Rigby nods, "I know. I thought a fight was gonna break out or something."

Mordecai chokes out a laugh, "So did I."

Rigby moves away to go back to Eileen, now enthralled in the idea of a brawl happening inside the restaurant and he punches the air as Eileen laughs. Mordecai quickly tunes them out and looks back at his hands to see they're no longer shaking, but his legs would still buckle underneath him if he dared stand. He can't explain it to himself, Rigby, Eileen, or probably not Margaret, but something about witnessing those two about to engage in a full blown argument deeply unsettles him. But it's not just that. There's more.

He looks back at the customer again to see him still in the same spot, this time with a hand to each side of his head as if he's thinking on what to do next. From the corner of his eye, he can see the group of waiters haven't disbanded and instead are huddled together to talk amongst themselves, with a few jerking their thumbs back to the man. The behaviour buries itself into Mordecai and he glares at them all, not caring if one of them sees and starts muttering to his colleagues about him. He doesn't know why he feels so strongly about this situation. Nobody else does.

His hands have stopped trembling now and he raises one to hold the side of his chair, the other by his side as he finds himself standing again. With his eyes on the customer, he suddenly moves away from the pair.

Rigby looks up from talking with Eileen and his mouth falls open when he sees Mordecai's gone. He goes to speak, but catches sight of him walking towards the customers table and frowns, "What's he doing?"

No one pays any attention to him; the drama's over for all the occupants know and they're only waiting for 10 more minutes to pass before the customer's forced to get out. The waiters have the same idea too - Mordecai figures they'll stay in their group until the timer's up.

The closer he gets to the table, the more the anxiety begins to hit and he suddenly stops in the middle of the pathway to hesitate. His hands are fine as are his legs, but his stomach's twisting in knots. His heart begins to race and he can barely hear Rigby's voice calling his name. At the far side of the restaurant, the toilet door opens and Margaret emerges, snapping her phone closed. She starts to make her way back to the groups table, but when she sees Mordecai walking towards another occupying a stranger, she frowns and hurries to Rigby and Eileen who are just as confused as she is. Her face is flushed from her phone conversation and she sidles up to the two, watching Mordecai with her brows knitting together, "What's-"

"We don't know," Rigby answers.

Margaret glances at them, "Did something happen while I was gone?" She looks past them, now noticing the waiters oddly circled together and she tilts her head, "Why-"

"You missed the beginning of a fight," Rigby explains, "But a waiter stopped it from getting nasty."

Margaret blinks, glancing from the pair to Mordecai then back again. Finally, she sighs and goes back to her seat. She's too tired to deal with this right now. Her phone conversation had thrown her; merely a friend questioning if she should get back with her ex, and now a fight's almost broken out in the restaurant. She grabs her purse, stuffs her phone inside, then reaches for hers and Mordecai's glasses to top hers up.


	2. Chapter 2

As Mordecai hastily continues on, the customer suddenly lifts a hand to sweep his hair back and he can see his face has returned to it's usual pale colour. His eyes are closed as he takes a breath in, still clearly thinking his situation over. Mordecai's stomach flips but his feet move him forward and he swallows thickly as he approaches the table. At feeling someone close in, the customers eyes fly open and immediately land on Mordecai who, at the sudden realisation of being near the stranger, begins to feel a warmth rise on his cheeks.

The customer stares at him for a long moment and Mordecai knows he doesn't need a mirror to know how red his face has gotten. Finally, the customer quirks a brow and, to Mordecai's surprise, starts to blush and fumble over his words as he places his palms on the table, "A-Are you…"

"Mordecai," he blurts out.

The customer doesn't say anything else for a few seconds and instead looks him up and down. After an agonising silence, he meets his eyes again and Mordecai can see that he's visibly nervous but unsure of him, "You're my date?"

Mordecai's heart plummets, "I-" He suddenly frowns when he feels eyes on him and he looks away to steal a glance at the waiters, one of which is watching him closely while his friends chat amongst themselves. He promptly nods, too mute to do anything else but slide into the empty seat across from him and all at once he notices the weight of the waiters hold leave his shoulders.

He feels himself smile, now a little at ease, but the customers scrutinising gaze is still fixed on him and he swallows again when he places one hand over the other, his mind practically racing to figure him out. As an incredibly strained quiet comes between them, Mordecai gives himself some time to look at him, trying hard to ignore his puzzled expression. He has a roundish, pale face, giving him the impression of someone a lot younger than he truly is, with brown hair that's been flattened against his head. His eyes are a shade lighter, which hide behind a pair of thin glasses that're currently slipping down his nose and there are a few wrinkles that've been permanently etched into his forehead, with noticeable dark rings around his eyes that contrast greatly with his skin.

"You don't look like your picture," he mutters, folding his arms as he leans back into his seat. He has a smooth, almost nasally, voice that makes Mordecai's heart jump into his throat, because it really doesn't match his face at all and he fights an amused grin as he realises he's being studied again. But he still remains seated.

He smiles nervously and raises a hand to rub the back of his neck, "Y-Yeah, well, you can never be too careful."

The customers eyes narrow and he frowns, "Mmm…" He folds his hands together so the tips of his index fingers are touching and leans forward, looking directly at him as he raises his voice, "You said your name was Jonathan on your profile."

Mordecai hesitates, "…Yes."

"Is that your real name? Or is it Mordecai?" His voice takes on a sudden harsh edge and he drops his hands back on the table.

Mordecai clasps his hands together on his lap and adopts a firm tone which he barely recognises as his own, "It's Mordecai. Look-"

"No, you look." His mouth twists and his palms press into the cloth as he leans slightly forward to make sure his next words hit, "I don't know who you are or what game you're playing, but you're not my date." From the corner of his eye, Mordecai can see the waiter look over, watching them carefully, and he feels a surge of panic go through him as he recognises him to be the waiter that had dealt with this man earlier. An incredible sense of dread sinks into his entire being as the waiter suddenly breaks from the group and, still looking at them, makes a clear beeline for their table. Mordecai's mouth drops open and he quickly looks back at the customer, his anxiety making his heart pound against his ribs. He has a finger pointed at him and his face has grown hot, his mouth running with words pouring out, but Mordecai doesn't have the time nor energy to keep up.

"What's your name?" He blurts and the question makes the customer stop mid sentence, his face contorting in confusion.

"W-What?"

"Your name, what is it?" He snaps. The waiter would be here soon…

The customer stares at him but doesn't reply, and instead moves back to sit properly in his chair with a frown curling his lip, "Why-?"

"Just tell me."

The customers eyes narrow again, but finally he complies, his voice bitter, "It's Benson."

Mordecai unclasps his now clammy hands and raps them on the table, his fingers curled into his palms, "You see that waiter over there?" He makes a gesture which Benson follows, and his eyes go wide. "You recognise him, right?" He looks back at Mordecai and nods. "Listen, I want you to pretend that I'm your date. Otherwise you'll get kicked out."

Benson frowns, "Who are you?"

Mordecai sighs and unfurls one of his hands, "That's not important right now. Just do as I say."

Benson glances back at the waiter, who's almost near their table, "Why?"

Mordecai feels his face warm and he grits his teeth, "Because I want to help you."

Benson opens his mouth again but right as he's about to throw in his response, the waiter from earlier briskly waltzes up to the pair. They both go silent as the waiter eyes Mordecai for a moment before turning to Benson with a wide, fake smile. He folds his hands together and says in a clear voice, "Your ten minutes're up, Sir."

At the familiarity of the waiters voice, cutlery's heard falling to it's dishes as various heads turn to fix their gazes on the coming situation. Conversations suddenly trail away and a deathly silence locks itself on the entire restaurant with Mordecai's heart thudding in his ears and the waiters lips splitting into a sinister grin. He gives all his attention to Benson, who's looking back up at him, unfazed.

The waiters eyes glint as he glances at a trembling Mordecai, "So…I see your date 'az arrived."

Benson slowly nods, "Yes, he got here a few minutes ago."

The waiters hands go behind his back and he again gives him another glance. His mouth shapes into a sickening smile, aimed for Benson, "He's quite 'andsome, Sir."

Benson swallows, seemingly shrinking under the waiters words, "I-I guess, yeah." His face grows hot and he quickly looks away.

Mordecai's face burns but Benson doesn't move his gaze to him as the waiter closes his mouth, his expression drawn. To Mordecai's horror, he produces that same sweet smile as if nothing had happened, "'ow long 'ave you been dating, if that isn't too personal of a question."

Benson hesitates, "It's…actually our two year anniversary."

Mordecai's jaw drops, but it goes unnoticed by the waiter, who's momentarily thrown at the response. He quickly regains his composure and drops the act to bring his hands out in front of him, his smile now genuine and his posture relaxed, "Congratulations!" Around them, everyone (including the group of waiters) politely claps with many using the opportunity to speak to their neighbour before the noise fizzles out. Mordecai too, takes a chance and peeks at his friends, who are watching the strangeness of it all unfold with their mouths hanging open and he can see Rigby say something to Eileen, making Mordecai frown but before he can think more on it, the clapping comes to a gradual close. Various heads turn back to their meals as they see no reason to continue observing the situation, and one by one they all grow bored and carry on with their dinners, all except for Mordecai's friend group who couldn't look away if they tried.

Another waiter comes to their table with two menus, which he hands over to the pair. He produces a pitcher of cold water and two glasses, which he gently places on the table. Mordecai opens his and buries his face in it so his nose is pressed against the paper, while Benson keeps up the act by carefully studying the dishes, though his face is still a dark red. The waiter leaves and their original one stays to take their orders but it takes a long minute before either of them have their eyes seat on a particular item. Finally, Benson closes his menu and utters his choice with ease, Mordecais gaze flicking to him when he notices his voice is strangely even, but Benson doesn't look away from the waiter. Soon, Mordecai does the same, mumbling out his choice with the waiter arching a brow at his pink cheeks, but he remains quiet and moves off for the kitchen much to Mordecai's utter delight.

He almost melts back into his seat and his heart's wanting to burst out of his chest from the nightmare that'd just occurred. He lifts his gaze to Benson who's watching the waiters form their circle again with his brows furrowing, "Why do they do that?"

Mordecai pushes himself up and with his throat run dry, reaches for the pitcher and an empty glass, the heat in his face slowly going down. He can still feel the groups eyes on his back and he feels the sudden urge to turn around, but Benson looks at him and the need to see his friends leaves immediately. He gives a heavy sigh as he leans forward to fill Bensons glass before dropping the jug and speaking for the first time in minutes, "Two year anniversary? Are you serious?"

Benson reaches for his glass, fixing Mordecai with a frown, "Hey, that was true. Jonathan and I would be celebrating our anniversary right now, if the jerk hadn't stood me up." He raises the glass to his lips and takes a large gulp.

Mordecai rolls his eyes, "You didn't have to embarrass me like that."

Benson almost chokes on the water. He stares back at him, "What- who would I be embarrassing you in front of? The waiters?"

Mordecai goes quiet and runs a hand through his hair, "I-I came with friends."

"Where're they seated?"

Mordecai reluctantly turns to point them out, but it's not that hard. They're still watching the pair like hawks, with Rigby cracking up laughing as soon as he sees Mordecai's spotted them. Margaret gives a small wave and Eileen grins, elbowing Rigby in the side to stop him from giggling away. Mordecai sends them each a dirty look then turns back to Benson, who's smiling shyly,

"They seem nice."

Mordecai scoffs, "You could say that."

Benson tops up his glass and goes to take another sip, but he stops himself when Mordecai looks directly at him with a small smile,

"Thanks, by the way, for playing along."

Benson shrugs, and places the side of the glass on his cheek, "No problem. We got some attention out of it."

Mordecai leans back in his seat, letting his eyes roam Benson for a moment. He doesn't say a word for a long time and at first, Benson thinks he's considering heading back to his table, but his next words make him freeze in surprise,

"Could you…tell me about Jonathan?"


	3. Chapter 3

Benson blinks as he lowers the glass to his mouth, "What?"

"You know, your would-be date." Mordecai answers with a shrug. Benson snorts into his water and raises his eyes to him, a blush coming across his cheeks, but Mordecai holds an even gaze of his own. Finally, Benson sighs and lifts his head, pushing his glass away to put both hands back on the table. When he sees Mordecai still hasn't broken, he lets out a surprised laugh, then realising Mordecai isn't reacting, begins blushing profusely and clears his throat,

"Oh, you're not…you're not kidding."

Mordecais brows furrow, "Why would I be kidding?"

"Well, we just met and…" His voice trails off and he glances away for a moment, when a thought comes to him, "Why do you want to know?"

Mordecais lips twitch into a smile and he leans forward, "Well, considering we're going to be sharing a meal together, I just figured that we might as well get to know one another." Bensons brows furrow. He says it so easily that it makes Benson pause to think it over. Mordecai does have a point and besides, it would be both strange and partly rude to simply dismiss his offer, since they'd be mostly sitting in awkward silence for the their entire meal time.

Benson stares hard at his glass while Mordecai waits for a response, and he can almost see the gears turning in his head. After a few beats, Benson looks up at him, sighing as he slowly nods, "Alright, but don't expect me to spill my heart out. We're still strangers you know."

Mordecai waves his hands, "Of course."

With another drawn out breath, Benson launches into the story, a deep red quickly painting his entire face when he registers of what he's doing; though, he keeps talking. Mordecai doesn't interrupt once, just watches Benson make continuous hand gestures, his body language becoming more relaxed and he's taken aback when he notices Bensons eyes gradually light up with his lips splitting into an incredibly shy smile as he carries the memories to Jonathan. Benson suddenly grins when he relays an embarrassing tale of Jonathans and Mordecai bursts into giggles, noting a quiet warmth sinking into his chest; the absolute parallel to how he'd first felt coming in here. Benson just finishes a sentence with both of them laughing into their empty glasses when the same waiter from earlier comes around, holding two plates of exquisite dinners, one a green salad, the other a rich pasta. He sets their orders down in front of them, along with another full pitcher of water and the bill, and the duo give their thanks, prompting him to quietly bow out then move off.

Mordecai wipes a tear from his eye and Benson quickly comes down from his laughing fit as he looks longingly at the dish presented before him. Mordecai picks up his cutlery as Benson shakes his head, immediately feeling an aching headache come on. His eyes flicker to Mordecai who's already stabbing an olive and he sighs again, the smell of the bacon and mushroom causing him to almost salivate. The two gradually grow quiet as they eat, but Benson finds himself pausing to glance Mordecai's way. He's expecting him to suddenly look up and laugh in his face, saying he's pulling his leg and carry his dish back to his own table, or to begin rattling off a funny story he'd been saving for such an occasion. He doesn't know which would freak him out more. Still, he decides to remain silent and he brings a mushroom to his lips, chewing it slowly in hope that this…curious feeling goes away.

He's ripped from his thoughts, however, when Mordecai drops his knife and fork on the plate, pushing it beside his empty water glass. He looks at Benson who's grazing his dish, making Mordecai smile again, though, he doesn't comment and grabs for the pitcher to fill his cup. Neither speak until Benson eventually leans back from his plate, meeting Mordecai's eyes again.

"That was really good."

Mordecai grabs a piece of celery from his knife, "You sound surprised."

Benson laughs, "It's hard to find a good pasta dish around this place. How was your salad?"

Mordecai reaches for a sliver of carrot, shrugging, "It was alright. I'll admit, I've had better."

"It's a salad." Benson says flatly.

Mordecai grins, "The dressing tasted funny."

"Do you want dessert?"

Mordecai shakes his head and Benson feels something lift from his shoulders, "Neither." Before Mordecai can speak, he reaches for the check book and opens it to see the bill, using his other hand to rifle in his pocket for his wallet. As he's drawing out a few bills, he catches sight of Mordecai watching him and he stops, "What?"

"What're you doing?"

"….Paying?" He tosses the notes onto the book, "It's…what you usually do when you've-"

"I know how it works, it's just…well, I was going to pay," he admits, beginning to go pink. To his surprise, Benson snorts and continues going through for more cash, completely unfazed. He's about to re-count it all until Mordecai speaks up again, "Seriously, let me pay for this."

Benson looks at him for a moment in stunned silence, before a grin spreads across his face and he starts to laugh, making the pink in Mordecai's face glow brighter. Seeing his cheeks flushed, Bensons laughter halts and he adopts a tired voice, starting to shuffle the money, "We still hardly know eachother. I'm flattered, really. But…" He hesitates and Mordecai can tell that he's choosing his words carefully, "I mean, you're not a substitute for Jonathan."

The pink in Mordecai's face turns a deep shade of red, "W…What…?"

The atmosphere between them suddenly shifts, but it goes right over Bensons head as he signs the bill with a flourish, then closes the check book to finally give Mordecai his full attention. But Mordecai's avoiding his eyes and he feels the smile fall from his face, realising something's altered between them in that short exchange. At this, his headache takes it's cue to spread through his temple and he holds a hand to his forehead, watching Mordecai set his gaze on the water droplets from his glass rolling onto the tablecloth.

Before Benson can speak, the waiter comes back and with a strained smile, Benson hands over the bill. He nods to him then walks off, leaving them alone, and Benson clears his throat, a strange aching in his chest to fit with the pounding in his skull. He reaches into his pocket to fish for a packet of panadol then pops them into his mouth and washes them down with the rest of his water, before closing his eyes and breathing slowly out his nose to steady himself. Not once has Mordecai glanced his way.

"M-"

"That's not what I meant."

Mordecais voice is hard. Benson lets his eyes flutter open and dares a look at Mordecai, who's watching him, "I was just trying to be polite, Benson."

Benson swallows but doesn't answer right away. It's the first time Mordecai's used his name, and it sounds strange coming from him; Mordecai seems to have realised this too and he glances away for a moment, bringing his gaze back when Benson finally speaks, "I know." He shakes his head, deciding to use his name too. It only seems fair, "I'm sorry, Mordecai, I wasn't thinking when…"

"It's fine," Mordecai says, his voice softening a notch. He's visibly hurt which makes the ache in Bensons chest grow, "Just…forget it, alright? I..I gotta head back to my table anyway."

Benson blinks. The instant reminder has everything come rushing back and it hits Benson square in the face. His head's pounding, but he forces a smile and a short nod, "Right, um…" With nothing else to do, he moves to stand and Mordecai follows his lead, the tension that had come up previously melting away. He makes the strong effort to hold out his hand, with Mordecai taking it.

"Thanks for the meal."

Benson sighs. His headache's growing more painful with each passing second, but he manages to push it down to smile gratefully at Mordecai, "Thanks for helping me out." Mordecai gives a shy grin but Benson feels himself continuing, letting go of his hand to push his hair back, "And thanks for keeping me company, even though," he chuckles, "I made a fool of myself in front of the entire restaurant."

Mordecai snickers, "Who cares, these people are pretty stuck up anyway." They share a laugh before Benson shakes his head in disbelief. He makes a move to turn, and he's surprised to feel the ache in his chest gradually leaving,

"I'll see you around."

Mordecai bites back a laugh as Benson waves a little, then sets off for the doors. He stands there a moment, just watching him retreat from their table, until something suddenly strikes him hard and he finds himself reaching for his phone in his pocket and racing to catch up with him. Right as Benson puts a hand on the doors handle, he feels someone come up behind him and he whips around to see Mordecai grinning with his phone clutched in his fingers,

"Did you wanna exchange numbers? We could arrange another time to hang out if you want." Benson doesn't say anything. He's caught off guard, but Mordecai takes it as a no and he presses on, "I-I mean, if that's okay with you. I know we just met and all but, and I hope this doesn't sound weird, but I want to see you again."

Again, Benson stays mute as Mordecais eyes search him. He takes in his still figure and his expression slowly falls as he looks away, "Oh, hahah no I um…I get it. Sorry, I shouldn't of said anything…" He goes to put his phone away, but he freezes when he sees Benson put a hand in his bag to take out…a pen? His words stick in his throat as Benson reaches for his hand, his glasses slipping down his nose, and in a few quiet seconds, they both exchange numbers, Mordecai discreetly trying to shove his phone down in his pocket.

Bensons eyes are alight when they meet Mordecai's again and he laughs as he pushes his glasses back, beginning to wave goodbye for the second time, "I guess I'll talk to you soon, then."

When he catches sight of his own scrawl on Bensons hand, he feels his heart go to his throat and his face heats up again, but it goes rightly unnoticed by Benson who simply beams at him before pushing the doors open. Mordecai watches him leave, suddenly feeling lightheaded and he spins around to go back to his group. He can see they were all waiting for him when he gets back because they're all packed up and ready to go. His breadcrumb pile is still intact, but his glass is strangely empty which, truth be told, doesn't exactly have him blink an eye at. A pile of notes sit beside the breadstick basket; someone's already paid, thankfully. Rigby's in a deep discussion with Eileen but when he sees Mordecai slide into his seat, still in a dream like state, he laughs and claps him on the shoulder,

"How was the date, man?"

Mordecai frowns and shrugs him off, "It wasn't a date, dude."

"Lay off him, Rigby," Margaret says. Rigby rolls his eyes but doesn't retort and Margaret gives Mordecai an appreciative smile, "That was a really nice thing you did, Mordecai."

Mordecai sits up and leans forward to grab the rest of his breadstick, suddenly needing something to take his mind off of what he'd just felt at having Benson take his hand. Seeing Mordecai occupied with wherever his heads at, Rigby resumes his conversation with Eileen, while Margaret continues to watch Mordecai carefully. Her eyes trail down and she almost immediately sees the digits on the upper side of his hand; before Mordecai can hide it, she threads his fingers in hers and studies the number, failing to suppress a knowing smile which makes Mordecai snatch his hand away, but it's too late - she's already put it together,

Though Mordecai's ultimately drained from the evening, he still feels a small, shy smile curl his lips and the blush comes creeping back into his face. Margarets eyes are bright but she doesn't say a single word on it and Mordecai wordlessly thanks her as he digs the hand in his pocket. Eyeing the breadcrumb pile, he sweeps his other hand through it causing it to scatter across the tablecloth, before scraping his chair back and standing along with Margaret. Rigby and Eileen follow and the four make their way to the doors, the pair lagging behind while Mordecai leads the way with Margaret beside him. He has a slight bounce in his step, which he doesn't bother to hide the entire way out and Margaret giggles at his side. For a little too long, he thinks.

As they break out into the cool air, the moon high in the sky, Mordecai raises a brow and nudges Margarets arm, "Hey, Margaret?"

"Hmm?"

He grins, "Do you know where the rest of my wine went?"

Margaret flushes, though she's smiling wildly, but as she's about to reply, she hiccups and dissolves into laughter, making Mordecai snort, "I won't tell if you don't."

She holds out a cold hand and firmly grasps his digit covered one, "Deal."


End file.
